Dad Wants to Talk while I Shower Ch. 03

Ellen! How wonderful to hear you! Oh, sweetie! Topless bar this evening? Sure! Love to! With your Dad? Great! Thanks for inviting me!

Why does this woman have any free nights? Where are the men? American Gold Eagles lying on the sidewalk and guys are walking past without glancing down. As a matter of fact, why haven't sex traffickers gotten her, yet? Crazy world.

So, we pick her up in Williamsburg. Dad can't believe what he's seeing when she walks toward the car. Long black gown. Can barely contain the boobs, going to split at any moment and they'll pop free.

I sort of thought we were going to one of the joints in the West 20's or maybe around Wall Street. But Dad is driving somewhere in Queens where they probably filmed "The French Connection." A doorman opens the car doors for us; some kid hops in and drives it away. Inside, we are led through crowded tables to the front center; we can sit and rest our feet on the stage. People are eying us as though we're jumping the line at a Broadway hit. Actually, probably looking at Naomi's ass; certainly not mine.

"Scotch," I pronounce as soon as we're seated.

"Sorry," says Dad. "No alcohol."

"What? What the fuck are you saying?"

"Topless and bottomless. Can't serve alcoholic beverages. Sorry. NYC regulations."

I glance at Naomi. Her smile is dazzling. SO happy! Bottomless joint, too? With Ellen's Dad? Divine!

Hot music playing. A kind of heavy woman in dungarees and a greenish sweater is waddling onto the stage. Sorry, catty remark. She has sort of stringy brown hair. Big grin on her face, which is red. Must be blushing, no booze. Could be the owner's wife coming to announce that they are serving little hotdogs on toothpicks as their special.

Nope. This babe, who is about 45, kind of cute face, is beginning to swing her hips, her elbows are crooked; she's twisting her torso in a sort of warm-up exercise for seniors. May I ask what the fuck...?

She takes hold of either side of her sweater and yanks it over her head. Tosses it away. Still sort of swinging her hips, but twisting her arms behind her back. Zip, the white bra comes off, tossed after the sweater.

Got to hand to her. Nice breasts. Very white, very big, pressing downward so their weight stretches and flattens her nipples. Pinkish orange and about three inches across, I would say, but getting crinkly with arousal, now. Again, with the torso twists; her boobs are swinging and banging, getting quite a workout. The audience is clapping and hooting.

Dad leans forward. "Amateur night. Any woman can go up there." He has a very big smile. Naomi looks as though she is attending the Academy Awards.

With one motion, the gal is shoving down her dungarees and panties over big hips. Her pussy is very plump and clean shaven. Lots of clapping, some foot stomping. She grabs her boobs, one in each hand, stoops down, and kind of rolls backward. Her legs are thrown up and apart. Open twat shot.

What the hell are men getting out of this? And what does she do next? I think I can see her clit beginning to take shape. She is sort of grinding her ass into the stage. Oops, she brings down her feet and thrusts her pubis into the air. Pushes it up there. Fuck, anyone?

Okay, time passes. Our Cokes arrive. Too loud to talk much. But Naomi is trying hard to ask about my summer. A few more sets of tits and asses come and go. I don't believe anymore that Dad never has been here. I have an idea what's on the agenda. So glad I invited Naomi along.

And here it comes. Dad leans toward Naomi. She leans in. She has the most sensational white teeth framed by lips very tastefully painted pink. She is blinking her gorgeous brown eyes.

"Would you ever do something like that?" he asks. He gestures vaguely at the stage. He adds, " Boy, that would be something to see!"

Instantly, I am leaning forward, about to make a speech. Of course, I knew this was coming, but it still pisses me off. I mean, Naomi is a classy girl. We Academy girls don't grind on stages in Queens, Dad.

Oops. She's already asking: "You want me to, Mr. Melville?"

I mean ANYTHING that ANYONE wants... I hesitate, mouth half open.

"I'd remember this evening forever," says Dad, his eyes, as they say, "suffused with longing."

She offers it with both hands. "Okay, Mr. Melville, sure! For you!"

I flop back in my seat. Frank glances over. I am not smiling. He shrugs his shoulders. Hey, what can a guy do?

Naomi is swaying her hips slightly as she walks up the two steps that lead to the side of the open curtain. She turns briefly, waves at us, smiles. She disappears.

I'm leaning back in my chair looking as bored as possible. I notice some guys are glancing at our table. A couple of them are checking me out. I mean, my girlfriend is going to appear on stage any moment. Me next?

Okay, she's walking onto the stage. What posture! Talk about "proud breasts"! She strides like a queen; the black gown is ravishing. There is no one looking anywhere but the stage.

I have to wonder if she said something about the music. Very Middle Eastern. Faux Ancient Egyptian, maybe. Roots.

She stops stock still. Takes a breath. Her arms are pulled behind her back, her chin is lifted. It forces forward her boobs.

Suddenly, the music bangs. She must have unbuttoned the back of her gown backstage because she grabs the neck and strips it off almost in one motion. As she does, she cries out in alarm. Flings it to the floor. Now, she's wearing just a black bra and black panties. And she is PACKED into them! The rest of her body is smooth black and as the light catches it, it seems to shine.

A hand (hers) grabs her bra and jerks it off. Again, she cries out in alarm. The bra is tossed away like a rag. I can't fucking believe her breasts—monumental, sculptural, with a cleavage like a mountain pass.

I get the story line, now. Her hand seizes her panties and tears at them. Yikes! She flips back and lands on the stage, with a cry of terror, and the hand (hers) drags the panties off her long, flailing legs. She is naked, the soft fluff of her pooch the only ornament.

She scrambles to her knees. Now, she begins a sort of dance, very slowly. She jerks her head to the side and screams. Jerks it to the other side. Okay, I get it. She is getting the shit slapped out her. Again, again.

She's sounds now as though she's pleading with someone to stop.

Suddenly, her head jerks backward as though someone has brutally yanked her hair. She falls back, her legs kicking, wide apart. Her arms are now out to sides, flat, as though pinned to the ground. She is begging, pleading, in some language.

Wow! I almost jump. She shrieks and spreads her legs REALLY wide. She's moaning, moaning in despair; her pussy is thrust far up into the air. She's getting brutally humped. It goes on and on. Her whole body jerks with each jolt.

Jeez, I love this music! Music to be violated by. Got to get the disc.

The audience is going crazy. They can't yell any louder or clap any harder. Stomping on the floor. Catcalls.

Finally, Naomi's ravishers have finished with her. Left, she slowly rolls over onto her belly, draws up her legs. She lies still. Her ass is facing us with her huge iron buns and a deep, mysterious crack between them. I just barely discern pussy lips somewhere deep in there.

She is stirring, turning her body. Now, she's facing us. Her boobs are mashed into the floor, scraped against it. But nothing can really flatten them. She slowly lifts her face, mouth open, panting, eyes half closed.

She shakes her head slowly as though unable to believe what has been done to her, what her body has survived.

Then, bang! She explodes to her feet. No idea how she did that. She leaps into the air, legs spread, arms flung out joyously. Head thrown back. Breasts utterly defiant with nipples now stiff and black, sticking out.

And the audience is insane. She lands, bows, runs off stage.

I cannot fucking believe this girl. What IS this?

She has dashed back on stage, swooped to grab her clothes, bows again. Gone.

My Dad and I are staring at each other. Disbelief.

He is frowning at me as though I must have known, but I'm shaking my head, lips pursed. Nope. No idea, Dad.

By the time Naomi comes back to our table, all nice and dressed, again, some guy has come over. Huge shoulders! Maybe padded. He is all smiles. Wants Naomi to come with him, talk. He's got an idea, offer.

I am jumping to my feet. No way is she going!

What if he asks her pretty please to start working at the club? Is she going to say, 'Oh, thanks, no. I'm interning with the FBI?' You know, like a normal girl?

I'm ready for a fight. Probably going to get beaten by gangsters. Grabbed as we leave the club by sex traffickers. They'll take me, too, just as an appetizer. A stripped white shrimp.

Actually, no. Another guy has hurried over to the table. He practically shoves the first guy away. He is shaking hands with my Dad, bowing. Saying something, making excuses. The first guy is slinking away. I wonder, now, what Dad really does for a living?

Okay. The guy bows to me, bows to Naomi. Talking all the time, but I can't hear a thing he is saying. Then, he's gone. Crisis passed. Except everyone in the room is looking over at us. The waitress comes hurrying up with fresh Cokes.

Interesting... as they say. What just went down, here, do you suppose?

Dad is smiling, leaning forward. Reluctantly, I lean in to hear him.

"What do think, Ellen? You want to give it a go?"